Faceâs throat and it took Nox a while to realise he was laughing. The second man joined in now and between the two of them they cackled like a pack of hyenas in a feeding frenzy. Scar Face snatched up the bottle and took a large swig. Through his frizzy beard, Nox watched his Adamâs apple bob up and down with each mouthful. His twin yanked the bottle from Scar Face before he had finished, spilling it over his beard and shoulder. A scuffle erupted between them, with yelling and punching.
Nox stared in horror as the crazy twins fell to the floor in a blur of swinging fists and groans. He searched the room, desperate for something, anything he could use as a weapon. One of the rubies in his ring, his poison ring, caught a beam of sunlight penetrating a gap in the wall. It was the briefest of encounters yet the result was dazzling. He twisted the antique around with his thumb. Since heâd found it decades ago, it had always provided some form of comfort. Knowing that he could use the poison powder whenever he wanted was incredibly powerful. This was his chance.
The bottle with the pungent liquid was within reach. He grabbed it. The stench, as powerful as peroxide, stung at his nostrils. With one eye on the fools on the ground, still beating the hell out of each other, he flipped the lid on his jewelled ring. Careful not to lose any of the precious powder, he drew it closer to look inside the tiny well.
What he saw clawed away the last piece of his sanity. It was empty. Every last grain of his mushroom poison was gone.
Nox screamed as loudly and as painfully as he could.
He must have caught their attention, because when Nox opened his eyes, he was looking directly at Scar Face. The way his eyes bulged, showing too much white around the iris and the smirk on his lips, like heâd had more than enough to drink, made Noxâs impression of the strange man jump straight to madman. His breath too was rancid, a mixture of rotten teeth and alcohol. Nox was certain Scar Face was the man who was going to kill him.
Nox couldnât stand it any longer. The pain, the fear, the unknown, it was all too much. He reached for the bottle and, forcing past the vicious odour, he took giant swallows. It stung his tongue, stung his throat and clawed at his insides. He paused, gasping for breath and swallowing back the hideous liquid. The brothers were laughing again but Nox didnât care anymore. His only hope was that the poison worked quickly. Right now all he wanted was to end this living hell.
Nox tipped the bottle up again and gulped back every last drop. The dryness in his mouth changed from barren wasteland to a new strange sensation, nothing. It was as if heâd been anesthetised. He couldnât tell if his tongue was moving at all. He turned his attention to his hand. With all the concentration he could assemble he wriggled his fingers. As he blinked away the blurriness, the room began to spin. Nox could no longer control his eyes.
He began to experience an incredible weightlessness, like floating on a cloud. He could no longer feel the lower half of his body. The pain subsided and became nothing more than a dull ache. He closed his eyes and absorbed the peacefulness.
The last sound he heard before he slipped into a wonderful, pain-free blackness was the sharp rasp of a saw on metal.
Nox drifted. Floating on an endless sea and staring up at the bluest sky heâd ever seen. Fluffy white clouds cruised overhead. He floated past islands covered in thick green vegetation and dotted with brilliant white rocks. The water was warm, lapping at his sides and lulling him to sleep. He dreamed of treasure, so vast and valuable that it took mighty ships to carry the entire haul. Images flashed through his mind with tickertape craziness. He saw gold, silver, coins and jewels. He saw rats, blood, rotting flesh and wooden crosses. He saw fancy yachts, blonde women in bikinis and fish tanks filled with mushrooms. And a
Nox stared in horror as the crazy twins fell to the floor in a blur of swinging fists and groans. He searched the room, desperate for something, anything he could use as a weapon. One of the rubies in his ring, his poison ring, caught a beam of sunlight penetrating a gap in the wall. It was the briefest of encounters yet the result was dazzling. He twisted the antique around with his thumb. Since heâd found it decades ago, it had always provided some form of comfort. Knowing that he could use the poison powder whenever he wanted was incredibly powerful. This was his chance.
The bottle with the pungent liquid was within reach. He grabbed it. The stench, as powerful as peroxide, stung at his nostrils. With one eye on the fools on the ground, still beating the hell out of each other, he flipped the lid on his jewelled ring. Careful not to lose any of the precious powder, he drew it closer to look inside the tiny well.
What he saw clawed away the last piece of his sanity. It was empty. Every last grain of his mushroom poison was gone.
Nox screamed as loudly and as painfully as he could.
He must have caught their attention, because when Nox opened his eyes, he was looking directly at Scar Face. The way his eyes bulged, showing too much white around the iris and the smirk on his lips, like heâd had more than enough to drink, made Noxâs impression of the strange man jump straight to madman. His breath too was rancid, a mixture of rotten teeth and alcohol. Nox was certain Scar Face was the man who was going to kill him.
Nox couldnât stand it any longer. The pain, the fear, the unknown, it was all too much. He reached for the bottle and, forcing past the vicious odour, he took giant swallows. It stung his tongue, stung his throat and clawed at his insides. He paused, gasping for breath and swallowing back the hideous liquid. The brothers were laughing again but Nox didnât care anymore. His only hope was that the poison worked quickly. Right now all he wanted was to end this living hell.
Nox tipped the bottle up again and gulped back every last drop. The dryness in his mouth changed from barren wasteland to a new strange sensation, nothing. It was as if heâd been anesthetised. He couldnât tell if his tongue was moving at all. He turned his attention to his hand. With all the concentration he could assemble he wriggled his fingers. As he blinked away the blurriness, the room began to spin. Nox could no longer control his eyes.
He began to experience an incredible weightlessness, like floating on a cloud. He could no longer feel the lower half of his body. The pain subsided and became nothing more than a dull ache. He closed his eyes and absorbed the peacefulness.
The last sound he heard before he slipped into a wonderful, pain-free blackness was the sharp rasp of a saw on metal.
Nox drifted. Floating on an endless sea and staring up at the bluest sky heâd ever seen. Fluffy white clouds cruised overhead. He floated past islands covered in thick green vegetation and dotted with brilliant white rocks. The water was warm, lapping at his sides and lulling him to sleep. He dreamed of treasure, so vast and valuable that it took mighty ships to carry the entire haul. Images flashed through his mind with tickertape craziness. He saw gold, silver, coins and jewels. He saw rats, blood, rotting flesh and wooden crosses. He saw fancy yachts, blonde women in bikinis and fish tanks filled with mushrooms. And a
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